


Linking Arms, Sinking Hearts

by jinkandtherebels



Series: Western AU [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, M/M, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:52:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3772369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkandtherebels/pseuds/jinkandtherebels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m getting married.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Linking Arms, Sinking Hearts

“I’m getting married.”

The words don’t hit Shisui for a minute. He’s not sure if that’s because he doesn’t want to hear them or because they’re so batfuck crazy his head just is flat out refusing to let them in.

Maybe it’s a little of both.

Either way, willfully ignorant can only work for so long, Shisui knows it better’n most, so finally he just says “The fuck?”

“Eloquent as always,” Itachi says, but it’s not the way he normally says it. Shisui’s gotten used to the sheriff’s digs at his vocabulary and whatnot, to the point where he realized it wasn’t actually Itachi making fun of him so much as Itachi being a dipshit and acting all—fond, okay? There isn’t really another word for it, because if there was Shisui’d definitely be using that instead, but there isn’t. It’s fondness. And it’s all the things they don’t say.

Anyway. This ain’t like that. This is short and sharp and mean, in a way Shisui’s never had reason to associate with Itachi before. It throws him off.

“What, you drop a bomb like that and think I’m gonna be _eloquent_?” he shoots back.

Itachi gives him an infuriating little shrug. “No, I suppose not.”

Which brings them back around to the original issue. “Married, Itachi? _Married_? What the fuck? When’d that happen?”

“Last week,” Itachi says. He’s made himself busy straightening up the papers strewn all over his desk, which makes Shisui want to sweep them all onto the floor, but he’s not a kid anymore so he doesn’t. If barely. “I received a letter from my father. He believes that, given my position here and Sasuke’s impending graduation, as well as his own…ambitions, now would be an opportune time to propose.”

“To who?” Shisui demands. It’s easier than laughing himself into hysterics because Fugaku Fucking Uchiha is the most Machiavellian manipulative shit he’s ever had the misfortune to know.

“Her name is Amane,” Itachi replies coolly. “Her father owns a bank in the city. We’ve met in the past and gotten along reasonably well. I am not certain whether we would return here to live after the wedding, although I believe we will.” Seeing Shisui’s slack-jawed disbelief and misinterpreting it (probably on purpose, the bastard), he adds, “Do not worry. My deputies will handle things admirably in my absence, I have no doubt.”

_That wasn’t what I was thinking about and you know it, you fuck_ , Shisui thinks, but he doesn’t say it.

“I don’t give a shit who she is,” he says instead.

Itachi pauses in his shuffling. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”

“Hell is that supposed to mean?”

A sigh. “What do you want from me, Shisui?”

That wasn’t where this was supposed to go. Shisui stumbles. “I’m not allowed to be curious? You never said anything.”

“I didn’t think it was any of your business.”

“Wasn’t—”

Shisui bites himself off before he can let on how fucking pissed off that statement makes him. Casual. Like there was never any doubt. Like none of this has anything to do with him at all. “You didn’t think it’d be worth a mention? ‘Hey, I’m gonna fuck off for a couple weeks to go marry my girl—oh, yeah, I have a girl, did that ever come up? Well, see ya when I come back with my firstborn kid.’ Something like that.”

“I didn’t _have_ a girl,” Itachi says, then stops, like he didn’t mean to say it. “I wasn’t…”

He looks Shisui in the eye, finally, but it’s hard and it’s tired. “I wouldn’t.”

And Shisui gets it.

Well, not so much gets it as gets _Itachi_. Gets that he’s always had that whole honor, fall-on-your-sword thing going on. It makes him a damned idealistic idiot, and also a surprisingly decent sheriff.

It also means that he’d never sleep with Shisui if he were with someone else. Bent or no.

And then the implications of _that_ sink in. “So that’s it,” Shisui hears himself say. “We’re done.”

“We’re done,” Itachi echoes, nodding once. There’s a twitch around his mouth that might’ve turned into a smile in some other place. “It has been…illuminating.”

_Wish I could say the same_ , Shisui thinks, because he feels more confused than he ever has.

Itachi’s eyes drop back down to those fucking papers. He gathers them all up and puts them in a worn-down leather case, neat as you please, like a train ride won’t knock them out of order in half a second flat, and the movement shakes Shisui out of stillness.

“You leaving?”

“First thing in the morning,” Itachi answers. He snaps the case shut.

Shisui wants to say something smart, something—he doesn’t even fucking know what. Something that’ll ground everything that feels like it’s coming unmoored right now. But because this is his life and he’s a complete fuckup he just ends up repeating himself.

“I don’t give a shit who she is. I don’t want you to marry her.”

Itachi looks up real sharp. His eyes narrow. Shisui figures too late that he was waiting for this, waiting for a fight, and Shisui just handed it to him.

“Why? Why do you care?” Itachi asks, cold like they don’t even know each other from Adam. “We are not friends, Shisui. You have made it abundantly clear that what we—that whatever we did, it was strictly casual. A release.” His mouth goes tight. “Why should you have any say whatsoever in what I decide to do with my life?”

And see, Shisui could say a lot of things here. He could make fun of the notion that Itachi’s the one choosing anything, because it sounds a helluva lot like Fugaku’s the one pulling all the strings, but that would just get him hit.

He could tell Itachi that he only ever backed off because he was fucking terrified of being sucked any deeper into his orbit, but he’s pretty sure Itachi wouldn’t believe him. Also, he’d rather cut his own chest open than admit it.

Or he could say that he didn’t want to see Itachi hurt. That he knew their situation had always been balanced on a knife’s edge and that there was no place for people like them in the world.

That Shisui had never thought he’d be stupid enough to hope, and that he’d ended up hoping anyway.

But he doesn’t say any of that. The words won’t come; his tongue and his throat and his head stop working in tandem because they’re all screaming different things, and buried somewhere underneath it all is another voice that he can barely hear—

“I just don’t,” is what he mumbles, weak and ineffective and not anywhere close to enough. Inadequate, to use Itachi’s fancy-ass words. And they both know it.

The disappointment in Itachi’s eyes is what does it. He picks up his case and turns to walk right out of Shisui’s life the way he walked into it, sudden and strange and tipping everything off-kilter, and just like that all the clamoring voices in Shisui’s head fall away. All that’s left is the one buried down deep where he could’ve pretended to ignore it, before. The one he tried so fucking hard not to hear.

_I don’t want you to go._

He’s going to say it. Fuck feeling exposed or feeling like an idiot or knowing it’s gonna come back later and bite him in the ass, Shisui’s going to say it and not have any regrets either way. He’s going to say it. The words are in his mouth.

“Itachi—”

Itachi stops with his hand on the door handle.

He’s going to say it, and then he remembers Sasuke saying _he deserves better_. Not nasty or anything. Like it was just a fact.

Because it was.

The words are still in his mouth, but Shisui chokes on them.

He thinks he sees Itachi’s shoulders sink before he opens the door and leaves through it, but he’s not sure.

.

Shisui’s not anything close to a stranger at the bar, but once he’s downed three shots in as many minutes and is eyeing up the rest of the bottle even Anko is looking concerned.

“You okay, Shi?” she asks.

He snorts. “Fuckin’ peachy.”

“’Cause you look like shit. And like hell.” She considers. “Like you went to hell and it shit you right back out. That’s how bad you look.”

Shisui can’t even muster the energy to be offended. “Can always count on you for a cheerin’ up, Anko.”

Anko looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t. Instead she fills his glass up again, adding, “This one’s on me.”

He raises the glass to her and knocks it back in one gulp. The burn is good. It edges all the way down his throat, settles in his stomach in a pool of heat.

And it does fuck-all to help him forget the shit he’s gone and quagmired himself in.

It’s probably not good that Shisui wants to kill some girl he’s never actually met. Actually, scratch that, it’s definitely not good. It’s pretty fucking bad, and not just because acting on the impulse would get him hung for sure no matter if it was Fugaku or Itachi or God Himself doing the judging.

It’s fucking bad because it says way more about Shisui’s—he doesn’t wanna say “feelings” because that sounds fucking bent even to him, but there’s nothing else for it, is there? He’s fucked. He’s fucked for Itachi and he knows it, he just wishes he didn't.

He doesn’t want him to go. He doesn’t want him to disappear and get married and go back to the city, he doesn’t want him to have some easy-living job (or worse, the same shit job and him always being in Shisui’s line of sight when Shisui can’t do a damn thing about it), doesn’t want him to have seven kids and a wife he says he loves, because Shisui’s selfish and he hates liars. But mostly he’s just selfish.

He’d take that, though. He’d take being selfish and a drain on everyone around him and every other thing people’ve ever said bad about him, words he’s knocked teeth out for in the past. He’d take all of it if it meant Itachi stayed here with him. And he knows that says it all. Spells out every reason why he’s fucked eight ways to Sunday and back.

The worst part, Shisui thinks morosely, is that she’s probably really nice. Gorgeous too; the Uchiha heir wouldn’t merit anything less than abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous, right? No shit.

And Itachi would love her.

Shisui feels like he knows that when he’s got no right to think he does, but he does. He knows Itachi would love her and keep her safe and have fucking stunning kids with her—because he felt duty bound to it if nothing else.

But even that’s easier than thinking he’d fall in love with her proper, like everything with Shisui had been a bit of rebellion. An indiscretion for the golden boy to get out of his system before he went back to the path everyone expected him to follow from the beginning.

Shisui stands up so fast he knocks the barstool backwards and sways on his feet for a second.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, putting the stool to rights.

“Shisui,” Anko starts, but he waves her off. He’s got other places to be.

Even piss-drunk Shisui could still find his way to the whorehouse blindfolded. It’s weird, though, he realizes when he’s waltzing through the front door—he hasn’t dragged himself over here for a fuck in months, not since—

Not since he got picked up by a couple of deputies who dumped him in a cell and left him thinking he’d have to deal with Fugaku, when it was actually Fugaku’s kid who showed up and flipped everything upside-down.

He shakes the thought off like he’s a dog with fleas and puts on his best smile for the landlady. He knows the whole song and dance by heart; it’s easy to get impatient with it, but Shisui normally doesn’t. He’s a patient kinda guy when he has to be.

Except now he’s more than a little drunk and maybe a little heartbroken and probably not drowning in subtlety so much as whiskey. Which he figures he’ll regret in the morning, but not now, not when there’s a dark-eyed guy on his arm leading him upstairs. Not now.

He can go back to hating his life later.

.

‘Course, ‘later’ turns out to be the next morning, when Shisui wakes up in a cell and realizes something’s wrong. Besides the obvious.

His wrists are fettered, his ankles bound; that’s showing some unusual diligence for Itachi’s deputies, but fine. His head is pounding from the hangover, but it kinda also feels like someone went at it with the butt of a gun, which is a little less fine.

And then he remembers what happened last night and it’s like cold water poured all down his back. Sobers him right up.

_Oh, fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh—_

He got caught.

Shisui’s _never_ gotten caught asking after a guy whore, as evidenced by the fact that he’s still fucking breathing.

The whole thing is normally pretty cloak-and-dagger. Officially the boys aren’t whores, just hired help, and anyone with the good sense God gave a mosquito knows to wait until the floor’s mostly empty to go upstairs with one of them.

But Shisui had been sloppy last night. He’d been—and one of the deputies, Arro or whatever the hell his name is, he likes to frequent the same establishment more nights than not. And Shisui _knew_ that, and he’d still fucked up.

Leftover whiskey mixes like acid with the fear in his gut, and Shisui barely has enough time to pitch sideways before he’s heaving, all of last night’s piss-poor choices coming back up with the bile.

_Fuck_ , he thinks, tears coming to his eyes. It’s panic pure and simple. _Shitting **fuck**_.

Being bent is still a hanging offense some places, and it’s just his shit luck to live in one of them.

He’s a dead man walking.

There’s just a couple rays of sun drifting in through the window. Shisui wonders how early it is and when they’re gonna come for him. No point in a trial, is there? Not out here; everyone’s got better shit to do than listen to Shisui try and defend himself against something a bona fide deputy saw with his own two eyes. They probably did the paperwork to get him strung up while he was passed out on the floor.

He almost throws up again, but this time he manages to keep everything down.

_I can fight_ , he tells himself, trying real hard not to panic again. _When they come for me, I’ll fight like hell and I’ll—_

_You’ll what?_

And that’s the question of the fuckin’ year, ain’t it.

He’s trussed up. Trussed up good and proper; no way in hell could he ride like this, even assuming he could get his horse saddled and moving before anyone caught up to him. They might not even bother cutting him loose for the walk to the gallows, either. They’ll fucking drag him if they need to.

Hysterics are edging up at the back of his throat again, or maybe that’s more bile. His head’s spinning. Shisui wonders if he’s gonna pass out like a dipshit, waste the last couple hours he has staring at the back of his own eyelids.

“Shit,” he says out loud, but it’s real quiet.

There’s the scratch and grind of a key in the lock and Shisui’s dragging himself to his feet before he even knows what he’s doing. He’ll fucking headbutt whoever it is; his ma always said he had the hardest head of anyone she’d ever known, and maybe that’ll be enough to save his life.

He doubts it, but it’s better than lying down and dying like a dog.

Then the door opens and takes all the wind out of Shisui’s sails.

Itachi is looking at him like he’s already seeing a ghost. “Shisui,” he says, “what have you _done_?”

Shisui thinks that’s pretty fucking rich, considering he’d only got himself into this mess because of Itachi in the first place, but Itachi doesn’t give him any time to say it. He’s halfway across the room before Shisui can get a word out, shutting the door behind him and fumbling for a different key on his ring.

“The hell are you still doing here?” Shisui blurts while Itachi goes at the cell lock. If he didn’t know better he’d say the sheriff’s hands were shaking.

“My train doesn’t leave for another two hours,” Itachi mutters. He twists the key in the lock, hard, and the cell door swings open with one long protesting creak.

And then they’re just staring at each other like fucking idiots across three feet of space.

Shisui can’t take the quiet for long. He huffs out a laugh. “Your dad’s gonna be sorry he missed this. He’s been wantin’ to see me hang for years—figures he’d give up the job right before he got his wish.”

That seems to unfreeze Itachi; he closes the distance between them and goes to work on Shisui’s cuffs.

“Do you think this is funny?” he asks tightly. Shisui scowls.

“Oh yeah, Sheriff, I think this is real funny,” he snarls. “I think it’s funnier than hell that I got sloppy and that’s what’s gonna get me killed. I think it’s fuckin’ _hilarious_ that I’m probably gonna be dead by sundown.”

“You were caught with a male prostitute,” Itachi hisses. There’s fire in his eyes now like Shisui hasn’t seen in a while. “What the hell were you _thinking_?”

_I wasn’t._

Which is the crux of the problem, when all’s said and done.

But Shisui can’t say that. So he twists his mouth up into a smirk and parrots Itachi’s own bullshit back at him.

“Don’t think it’s any of your business. Why do you care?”

Itachi hits him.

The punch knocks him sideways, pain blazing across the side of his face, and somewhere deep down Shisui can’t help being impressed that Itachi has that kind of strength buried under his pretty exterior.

Then he wakes the fuck up and punches right back. Watches Itachi’s head snap to the side and doesn’t even pretend it makes him feel any better.

It’s so stupid. It’s so fucking stupid and pointless and it goes exactly nowhere, even if Shisui half-thinks he’d gladly let himself get beat to death instead of trying to exchange any more words.

But Itachi’s not going for it. He doesn’t hit back. So they just stand there like a couple of morons with bruises forming on their faces.

“I care,” Itachi says shortly.

“You’re leaving,” Shisui snaps, and immediately hates himself for it. Like that fucking has anything to do with anything.

But shit, he’s gotten started, he might as well finish it. “You’re leaving, remember? Goin’ off to your girl back home and your twelve kids or what the fuck ever. You’re their golden boy. And I was always gonna end up dead here one way or another, so what the hell difference does it make?” He laughs. It sounds a little batfuck even to his own hearing. “You said it, Itachi—we’re done. Why should my life mean jack _shit_ to you?”

For a second he thinks Itachi’s going to haul off and deck him again, but he doesn’t.

He takes two steps forward with eyes blazing, takes Shisui’s face in his hands and kisses him hard.

And somewhere between Shisui’s lip splitting open and Itachi’s tongue finding its way into his mouth something clicks.

Shisui might be a fucking dipshit, but he’s not stupid.

He doesn’t realize he’s moving backward until his back hits the wall and Itachi’s still pressing until they’re flush against each other. Shisui pulls back for half a second, just enough time for a harsh breath of air before he goes for Itachi’s mouth again.

Jesus. He should’ve let Itachi kiss him months ago.

_Maybe then you wouldn’t’ve ended up in this position in the first place_ , some fucking unhelpful voice in the back of his head says, but Itachi’s hand is going for his belt and Shisui’s head shuts the hell up.

There’s not a lot they can do here, in a cramped cell with nothing useful sitting around—goddamn Itachi for a thorough packer—but it don’t make a difference in the end. Shisui manages to get Itachi out of his pants without detaching their mouths, which he thinks is pretty impressive himself, and pretty damn smooth for a guy whose own pants are already down around his ankles, but then Itachi does something imaginative with his tongue and Shisui no longer minds that he doesn’t seem too impressed.

Itachi rocks against him and Shisui moans into his mouth, all thoughts of subtlety dying in the sudden roaring heat. He doesn’t even know if the door is fucking locked, but shit—they’re already gonna hang him, what’s one more charge to pile on the rest?

Itachi’s a lot stronger than his skinny frame would suggest, because when Shisui’s legs come up to wrap around his waist he barely seems to notice it. Granted, they’re both kinda out of it at that point, panting harshly into each other’s mouths as their hips roll and the kisses turn into more messy exchanges of tongue and breath than anything else; it’s still the best fucking thing he can remember feeling.

“Shit,” Shisui hisses under his breath as he feels the heat building, pooling in his gut like the whiskey did last night, only this is so much fucking better. “Shit—Itachi—”

Itachi tangles his fingers in Shisui’s hair and yanks him forward, shutting him up with his mouth, which Shisui is more than okay with, even if it does fuck-all to cover the noises he’s making. He’s got nothing to be ashamed of now. He’s got nothing left but this, and right now this is more than enough.

Itachi breaks off with a little sharp gasp, his head ducking into the sweaty hollow of Shisui’s shoulder. And maybe Shisui’s feeling sentimental or some shit because he strains forward, presses a shaky kiss to Itachi’s forehead and that—that does it, Itachi shuddering against him as sticky wetness hits Shisui’s thighs and stomach.

“Shit,” he mutters again, and there’s a pleading edge to it he’ll probably hate himself for if he remembers it later.

Itachi gets it, though. He frees one long-fingered hand from the wall, trembling now with release and probably with strain, and puts one of his own fingers into his mouth. It comes out slick and not that Shisui isn’t watching the proceedings with interest, but he’s not seeing how that’s gonna be helpful. At least until Itachi reaches down behind Shisui’s cock and presses _in_ and—oh, _fuck_ —

Shisui’s pretty sure he yells when he comes, but he knows Itachi’s not gonna make fun of him for it, so that’s alright.

.

They slump down against the wall of the cell and against each other, which is pretty fucking gross but Shisui’s not about to complain. Weird—he’s about to get up close and personal with Death himself, but he doesn’t think he’s ever felt more calm.

Predictably, Itachi bursts the bubble first. “What now?”

Shisui snorts. “There’s no ‘now’, Itachi. Didn’t think you’d need me to tell you that.” Out of nowhere something hits him. “Just so you know, though, I didn’t do anything with the guy they caught me with.”

Itachi lets out a sigh. Shisui feels it more than he hears it. “You don’t need to lie to me, Shisui.”

“Yeah, and I’m not. We got up to his room and I—” Shisui swallows. “I couldn’t. I’d already paid and all, so I was gonna conk out on his bed for the night but then we got interrupted.” And that makes him think of another thing. “Oh, shit. Did they grab him too?”

Itachi’s looking at him funny, but he answers. “No. As I understand it, the owner of the establishment came up with a way to make Aaron…forget the face of her boy.” He frowns. “I really need to address the bribery situation within law enforcement here, but this didn’t seem to be the time.”

“That’s good,” Shisui says, more to himself than to Itachi. “Makes me feel a little better about a shitty situation, anyway.” Last thing he wants is a dead guy on his conscience.

Itachi eyes him sidelong. “Do you have a plan? Or anything remotely resembling one?”

“Like what? Disappear like I’m in a Wells novel? Walk through the walls?” He tries to laugh, but he’s pretty sure it comes out wrong. “Not lookin’ too likely. So unless the President himself signs a piece of paper in the next couple hours sayin’ bent is okay, it’s lookin’ like a short walk and a quick stop for me. Not too surprising, I guess.”

His words are slipping all over the place like they do when he’s nervous. Or terrified out of his fucking mind; same difference.

“You have to leave,” Itachi says suddenly.

For the second time in as many days, Shisui’s struck speechless. Must be a gift of Itachi’s.

“Come again?” he manages.

“You have to leave,” Itachi repeats. He stands up, taking whatever heat his skinny body carries around with him. Shisui shivers in the space left behind. Not that Itachi notices; he’s too busy pulling his clothes back on.

Shisui gives in and asks. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“Leave,” Itachi says for the third time. He’s starting to sound a little unhinged with it. “ _Leave_. Before they come back for you. Get on the first train out, you can use my ticket—”

“Wait, wait,” Shisui interrupts, because his heart’s gone to thundering against his ribcage and it’s making hearing harder than it ought to be. “You’d let me go?”

Itachi looks at him like he’s the biggest fucking moron this side of the Atlantic. “What did you think we were discussing?”

“Something that _didn’t_ involve you getting pinned for letting a criminal escape?”

“I don’t care. By the time any letter gets to my father, by the time he’s able to launch an investigation or recall me or whatever he decides to do, you’ll be long gone.”

Shisui’s head is spinning again. He leans back against the wall and lets out a long, shaky breath. “This is so damn wrong.”

Itachi’s face goes all soft in that way Shisui’ll never admit he missed, and before he knows it the sheriff is leaning down and kissing him again, more gentle this time. It feels amazing and Shisui curses himself for a fucking idiot. Why the hell had he kept pushing Itachi away?

“This isn’t wrong,” Itachi says firmly, pulling back. “It is criminal, yes, but it isn’t wrong, and spending time with you has shown me that there is a marked difference.”

Something tells Shisui that Itachi’s not just talking about letting him go, but there’s no time to ask him about it. He’s already moving again, putting buckles and buttons back to rights, all business.

“My train leaves in an hour, give or take. I assume you have a horse?”

Shisui nods numbly. Flicker is still tied up in the stable where he normally sleeps.

“Good. Then you should be able to make it. I would appreciate it if you tried to disappear with some subtlety, but in any case you will not be followed. I’ll see to that.”

“They’ll know you let me go,” Shisui says quietly. Itachi stills. “They’ll smell a rat and they’ll know. You know what they’ll do to you then?”

Itachi’s back is to him, but Shisui can still tell he’s about to interrupt, so he heads him off. “They won’t bother with all that shit about writing your dad, or anything like that. Even if they do? You’ll be dead before he ever gets wind of why they did it. They’ll string you up right in the middle of town and no one will do a goddamn thing about it. It won’t matter how much good you’ve done. They won’t do a fucking _thing_.”

“As I said,” Itachi murmurs, maybe a bit shaky, “I don’t care.”

“I fucking do,” Shisui snaps.

Itachi’s sigh is so quiet he almost misses it. He turns around to face Shisui again.

“I accepted this post because it was my duty,” he admits. “But I consoled myself with the thought that maybe I could do some good out here. I thought I could keep innocent people safe. If I can’t even manage that, then there is no point in my being here.”

“I ain’t exactly innocent,” Shisui points out, because it’s easier than focusing on the rest of it.

“All right,” Itachi allows. “Good people, then.”

Shisui’s about to deny that too—Itachi might think he’s useless if he can’t save the fucking world and everyone in it, but if anyone’s worthless here it’s him, because he’s never contributed a damn thing in his life and now he might not ever get the chance. He can accept all of that if it means Itachi doesn’t throw his own damn life away like it’s nothing. Itachi doesn’t give him the space to say any of it, though.

“You need to move. If you miss the train we’ll be fucked.”

He’s not used to Itachi swearing. If he were more _here_ , Shisui figures he’d probably like it, but the gears in his head are turning too fast for that.

Itachi hasn’t put his belt back on yet. It’s still on the floor.

His gun is in the holster.

Shisui swallows hard.

“Hey, Itachi.”

Itachi glances at him.

“What is it?”

“You ever think—” Shisui takes a breath and hopes the sheriff won’t think nothing of it. “You ever think we coulda made it work? You and me, I mean.”

He feels heat spread over his ears as Itachi cocks his head.

“I think we did,” he says, thoughtful and sad. “I think we made it work as well as we could.”

Shisui knows better, though. He knows they could’ve made it work so much better if he’d been less of a prick. If he’d been less fucking scared.

But there’s no good in thinking like that now, so he nods like that was pretty much the answer he’d been expecting, and he waits for Itachi to turn toward the door again.

When Itachi does, Shisui figures he’s got about two seconds before the sheriff remembers his belt’s still on the cell floor and turns to pick it up, so he moves fast. He grabs the gun, lurches to his feet, moves forward—Itachi’s starting to turn around, a question in his mouth—and clocks Itachi over the head with the barrel.

Itachi’s eyes go all unfocused for a second before he drops like a stone. Shisui tries to catch him, set him down as best he can.

“Now they can’t say you let me go,” he says into the silence.

He steps carefully around Itachi’s limp form and walks right on out the front door.

.

The next hour or so is a smear in Shisui’s memory. He gets his horse and rides hard and keeps his head down and somehow manages to get on the train without any problems. Third class, which he probably could’ve guessed; Itachi’s nothing if not practical. Or maybe sheriffs in backwater towns don’t get paid a helluva lot.

Not like he’ll get the chance to ask, now.

Leaning back in his seat, Shisui realizes that he doesn’t have a clue where to go from here. He’s never left the town where he was born—and yeah, it’s a piece of shit, but it’s _his_ piece of shit, you know? He’s gotten by on tying up people’s horses and drinking and laughing with Anko and committing the occasional petty thievery, just to keep things interesting, and then there’d been—

Well, there’d been Itachi, but all of that’s gone to shit and Shisui doesn’t know what the hell he has left.

He leans back in his seat and lets out a sigh. Part of him thinks maybe he oughta be looking out the window for a last look at his hometown or some shit, but the bigger part says that’s a shitty idea. No point in last looks. It might remind you what you’re missing, might make you wonder why the hell you’re leaving it behind in the first place.

Not that that’s hard to work out. They’ll kill him if he goes back, and Shisui doesn’t feel a particularly burning urge to get dead. Strangling is an ugly way to die even if he did.

So here he is. Sitting on a train with a filched ticket, waiting for it to move, not a penny in his pocket and his heart heavy as a stone inside his ribcage.

Here he is.

The train finally starts up with a lurch, letting loose all kinds of screeching noises that’d make Shisui think Hell was opening up right here in the desert if he hadn’t lived his whole life within hearing range of a station. It gets moving, slow at first but picking up speed, pulling Shisui away from everything he’s grown up with. He’d swear he can feel his ties to the place stretching as he gets farther away—pulling, but not breaking. He’s not sure he’ll ever manage that trick.

Itachi’s face flickers in his mind.

Shisui closes his eyes and pulls his hat down over them.

He can bite on his lip until he tastes blood to keep from crying like a damn kid, but he can’t stop the shaking, so he doesn’t try. He shakes like a fucking leaf for the first hour of the train ride and by the time they’ve crossed the state line, by the time Shisui’s further from home than he’s ever been in his life, his eyes are dry and his jaw’s set.

He’ll get back there someday. He’s fucking sure of that. Until then, he’s just gonna have to make his way somehow, but Shisui’s creative. Always has been.

And maybe planning on going back to the town where he’s got an open warrant out for his arrest is a stupid fucking idea, and maybe thinking about it makes Shisui a stupid fucking idiot.

_But hey_ , he thinks, with the beginnings of a grin, _I’ve been accused of bein’ a lot of things. Smart ain’t one of them._


End file.
